Therapy (18 page)

“Jess, don’t do that,” he warns. “She isn’t one to play games.”

“Wow. That’s rich coming from you, Jace! You’re engaged to her and you’re playing games, you’re playing with fire. Maybe you should be honest with her; you are marrying her. Don’t you think you should go into this thing with a clean slate?” I say, being a total sarcastic bitch.

“Stop. Just stop talking about me getting married like you’re okay with it, like you don’t care.”

I do care; I hate it. Every time the words roll off my tongue, I want to gag. But if I have to keep reminding myself that that’s the reality of his future to stop myself from having some deluded idea of a happily ever after with Jace, then that’s what I’ll do. He’s never seen this side of me before. He only knows shy, weak Jess. Not mean, cold, shut down, bitch-on-wheels Jessica.

“I am okay with it. I am perfectly okay with the fact that you’re getting married. So okay with it, maybe I’ll even buy you guys a wedding gift,” I snap.

“What’s happened to you, Jess? You’re not a bitch. That’s not the person you are. Why are you doing this?”

It’s who I am today. It might not be me tonight or tomorrow, but right now, yes, I’m a bitch. An hour from now I may be curled up on my bed crying my eyes out, or drowning my sorrow in a glass of 151 or maybe I’ll be bleeding out the pain, but right now, I’m a brick wall that he’s not getting through.

“I told you, I’m not the same person I once was. You need to accept that.”

I’ve spent years making sure I’ll never have to endure other people torturing me ever again. I’ll never be someone’s verbal or physical punching bag again. If that means being a coldhearted bitch on the outside, so be it. It’s a defense mechanism and it works, regardless of the method.

“What group are you supposed to attend today?” he asks, ignoring my last statement altogether.

“What, you mean you didn’t get that from my file when you were breaking the law getting all of my other personal information?” I say, raising my voice now.

“Just tell me the name of the damn group you’re going to, Jessica,” he barks back.

“I don’t know the name of the group. It’s for self-harmers or something. It’s for fucked-up people like me. What difference does it make?”

“That’s exactly the type of group you need to be in, but like I said, you need to find one at another facility. I can help point you in the right direction if you’d like.”

Oh God, now he sounds like my fixer again.

“Whatever, Jace. Are we done now?”

“No. I really need that file back, Jess.” His voice is insistent, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to give in to him right now.

“Well you aren’t getting it. Push me and I’ll report you, for taking it, and your fiancé, for leaving it out in the first place.”

“Fine, Jess, have it your way. But confronting Victoria won't solve anything, trust me,” he huffs. I just smile and wait him out. “Good-bye, Jessica,” he says, and hangs up.

Every time he uses my full name it sends chills up my spine, but I shake it off and pitch my phone on the bed. I get up and start the shower, letting it get hot before I hop in. I stand under the water with my eyes closed; memories of him touching me, kissing me last night, flood my mind. These thoughts are trying to rob me of the strength that I’m so desperately grasping for. I need to Let. Him. Go. I have to.

With the infamous file folder in hand, I walk through the doors of the clinic. I strut with false confidence to the front desk and ask for Dr. Ward. I have on a pair of dark denim skinny jeans and black boots, and my very fitted black top shows off my body in all the right places. I also put big loose curls in my hair this morning. It falls down past my chest, and I almost hope Jace sees me—he always did love my hair. Last night, I looked like shit. Today, I have makeup on and I look good. That’s the one thing I’ve never had reservations about—I know I’m not ugly. As I’ve gotten older, my confidence in my looks has grown and I’ve been able to embrace that about myself.

“Excuse me, I need to see Dr. Ward briefly. I have something to return to her,” I inform the squatty receptionist behind the glass window.

“Do you have an appointment with Dr. Ward today?” she replies.

“No, I don’t. I just need to return something to her, that’s all. Is that possible?”

She regards me from under her eyeglasses and punches in a number on the phone as she picks up the receiver.

“Doctor, we have a young lady here that says she needs to return something to you. Do you have a moment or would you prefer I set up an appointment?” She seems satisfied with the answer before she hangs up and looks back up at me. “She says to send you on back. She has a few minutes before her next patient.”

“Thank you.”

I make my way through the winding hallways until I get to her door. My heart’s beating so fast that the blood in my veins can barely keep up. I suck in a breath and knock on the office door.

The door opens and there she is in all her elegant doctor glory, dressed in an all-white pantsuit. Doesn’t she know it’s after Labor Day?

“Oh, hello, Ms. Alexander. What can I do for you this morning?” she asks with a polite smile on her face.

I hold out the file folder and make deliberate eye contact with her in order to keep from staring at the very large ring on her finger—the ring that should be on my hand.

“I believe you may need this back,” I say coolly.

She looks down at the file and back to me, confused.

“How did you get this?”

The answer to that million-dollar question is sure to knock the good, proper doctor on her narrow, high-class ass. She has her hair up in a flawless French twist and I just want to reach out and muss it all up. She reminds me of Jace’s mom, all prim and proper.

Fake!

“You should ask Mr. Collins that question. I’m just here to return it,” I tell her, trying to maintain my composure.

“Excuse me? Mr. Collins? What’s this all about?” she asks, and I can see her defenses go up as she narrows her eyes at me.

Funny you should ask.

“What this is all about is your fiancé, my ex-boyfriend, stole that file from your office last night. Then he tracked me down to my apartment,” I say, dropping the bomb right down on top of her flawless head.

For the first time since meeting her, she looks taken aback and rendered speechless.

“What are you talking about? Forgive me for saying so, Ms. Alexander, but there’s no way the man I’m engaged to was at your apartment last night,” she retorts snottily.

Bitch!

I knew it was in there. I knew she was a dirty bitch from the get-go. No way does a person dress like that and not be a bitch. She’s a cookie cutter of all those socialite women that care more about their social status than anything else.

Jace is marrying a clone of his mother.

With that thought, I have to fight the urge to throw up in my mouth a little. Just as she’s mentally sharpening her claws, I stop her dead in her tracks. I’m a pro with bitches like this. I can predict her next move before she can even think it. I guess I should be thankful to Elizabeth Brant for one thing—she gave me Bitch 101 training for years.

“You’re probably right, doctor. I’m probably delusional and imagined the whole thing. Jace was never at my apartment, he never stuck his tongue halfway down my throat, and he never told me he still loves me. None of that could’ve possibly happened because I’m just a borderline having a mental breakdown, right?”

I flip my black mane over my shoulder and turn to leave. Before I do, I have to give her one last thing to think about.

“Oh, and doctor, when Jace says ‘I do’ to you in four weeks, just know that in his mind he’s really thinking ‘I don’t.’”

“The heart will break, but broken live on.”

—Lord Byron

I HAVE NO idea what I’m doing at a club and I especially have no idea why I’m on the damn dance floor. This girl says she’s okay with just having a good time, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl that doesn’t eventually want more. More isn’t a factor in the equation for me right now, at least not for a very long time. Her arms are draped over my shoulders and she’s smiling like a Cheshire cat. Even though I can’t deny that she’s gorgeous, I also can’t deny that she’s not Jess. The song ends and as it starts to fade into another one I back away, putting some considerable space between our bodies.

“Well, I think I’m gonna call it a night. Thanks for the dance,” I say, giving her an unconvincing smile.

“Okay, your loss. Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime. And maybe next time I see you those eyes won’t be so sad.”

I just give her a polite nod and weave through the crowd of sweaty bodies until I find Trent. He’s in the middle of two blonds as they rub their bodies up and down his. The grin on his face only widens as he sees me approach. He holds up his drink in a prideful gesture, obviously pleased with the situation he has himself in. I just shake my head at him.

“I’m heading out, man,” I tell him.

“Well, as you can see I’m a little busy at the moment, so I’ll catch you later, bro. Are you sure you don’t want to join in? Maci or Staci would be more than happy to accommodate,” he chuckles.

I look between Staci and Maci, unsure and uncaring as to which one is which. “Nah, man, you have fun with all that. I’m going back to the room to crash.”

“Suit yourself, J.”

I give him a backward wave as I turn and walk away. Before I make my escape, I see Victoria back at the bar chatting up some other guy. She turns, giving me a wink and a little wave. I wave back and leave.

What’s wrong with me?

I’m nineteen years old, in college, and I can’t even go out to a bar and have a good time.

The winter break sped by at lightning speed. I did my best to avoid places that reminded me of Jess, but it wasn’t easy. I even drove past her house a few times on the off chance that her car would be in the driveway. No such luck. She’s still on my mind daily and it’s an effort for me to live in the present, but I’m doing it.

Now, it’s the first day of the spring semester and I’m actually a little nervous. I’m still undecided on a major, but I did sign up for a psychology class because the more I think about what happened to Genevieve and how tortured Jessica was, the more I think I may want to pursue something in a field where I can help people. I could get a degree to be a counselor in four years. I’m still not positive, but I’ll see how I like it anyway.

After going to a couple of basic classes, like math and science, I head over to Psychology 101. I find a seat and get my notebook out. Other students are filing in the room and I see the professor walk in. He’s a tall, skinny man wearing thin-rimmed glasses and stereotypical sweater-vest professor clothes. He flips on the smart board and the class syllabus pops up on it. As all of the students get settled I see a woman come in holding a briefcase in her hand and a laptop case over her shoulder. She almost looks familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it because I can only see her side profile. She hands the professor a few folders from inside her briefcase and they exchange words. She looks like she may be a professor or maybe a teacher’s assistant. Maybe that’s how I recognize her. The skinny professor makes his way to the front and center of the room and begins introducing himself.

“Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Professor Andrews and this is my TA, Victoria Ward. Welcome to Psych 101.”

Victoria Ward!

Bells go off in my head and when she smiles during his introduction it hits me. Son of a bitch, it’s the girl from the club last semester. She looks totally different, but it’s definitely her. She’s wearing gray dress pants and a white, tailored button down. Her hair’s up in a high ponytail, and her lips shine with some kind of gloss. She continues assisting the professor with whatever it is he’s preparing for class, and then he hands her a stack of papers and she leaves. My eyes follow her as she walks out the door.

The professor drudges through the syllabus and by the time class is over, I’m already mentally bogged down with information. After only one day of classes, I have more homework than I ever imagined I’d have. I grab something to eat and head straight for the library. I have to be at the gym in two hours, so I guess I should make the most of my time.

Our first assignment for Professor Andrews is on psychology in history. I let out an exhausted breath and flip open my textbook. I’m deep in thought, reading the text, when the chair across from me pulls back. I glance up and it’s Victoria. Our eyes meet briefly and I clear my throat before looking back down at my book. She most likely doesn’t remember me, which is probably for the best. Then again, there are a ton of empty tables and chairs, so why sit at this one with me?

“Hi.”

I look at her and half smile.

“Hello, Victoria,” I respond. Then I dismissively look back to my homework.

“Wow. You remember my name; I’m impressed. How do you like Baylor so far?” she asks, as if she doesn’t want the conversation to wane.

“It’s good, no complaints.”

She sits there, with what I consider to be a confounded expression on her face. She looks like she expects me to offer more, but I don’t.

“You’re in Mr. Andrews’s psychology class, correct?” she prods.

“Yep, looks like it.”

She studies me for a few more seconds, roving her eyes over my face before refocusing back on my eyes. With my lack of eye contact and obvious
I’m not interested
vibe, you’d think she’d back off.

“Are you still brokenhearted, Mr. Collins?”

I harrumph and glance up at her quickly before looking back to my book.

“I’m fine, Ms. Ward. It’s all good.”

Whether I’m still sad or not is irrelevant at this point. Jess has moved on and I have to do the same—eventually. Regardless, I’m still not interested in starting up a relationship with someone else.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Are you up for coffee later?” she asks with a streak of confidence that demands my attention. She isn’t afraid to go after what she wants, that’s for sure. I have to give her that much. She’s noticeably older than I am and even though that doesn’t intimidate me, it does tell me that she’s a woman—a woman that, sooner or later, will want more. Silky pearl earrings dangle from her ears and her long ebony ponytail swoops down over her left shoulder. She’s classy, intelligent, and probably comes from money.

Definitely a woman who will want more.

The fancy job, fancy house, perfect straight A kids, and a tiny lap dog are probably all on her checklist. I’m a Ford F-150; this girl is a Mercedes. We are not compatible. She’d be totally compatible with my mother, though.

“Sorry, but I’m not much of a coffee drinker,” I say nonchalantly as I avoid her stare by flipping through the pages of my book. She’s trying really hard to get my undivided attention while trying to remain cool and under the radar at the same time. It isn’t working.

“Well, all right, then. If you ever need help with your psych class, let me know.” She pushes a piece of paper across the table. Then she gathers her things and leaves. Her tight ass and well-curved hips saunter in the opposite direction.

Yep, you could’ve had that, but you’re a damn fool they say, mocking me as they fade from my line of sight. I shake the temptation away and focus my attention back on my homework.

Women are evil, evil beings!

I check the time and realize I need to get to the gym to meet the guys for our workout. I shove my books and the number Victoria gave me into my bag and leave the library. I see Trent and some girl pressed up against my truck, and roll my eyes. This guy is the biggest player I’ve ever met; I can’t believe girls are into that shit. Why do us nice guys always get shit on while guys like Trent have sweethearts falling all over them? They have to know that his dick has been in half the female population around here. But either they just don’t seem to care or they’re too dense to realize it. As I get closer, I can see that the girl he’s with doesn’t look all that pleased. In fact, she looks a little pissed. She’s petite and has shiny shoulder-length brunette hair, toned, tan legs, and pouty lips. She’s cute, not all blond and big-chested like most of the girls Trent usually gallivants around with.

“Hey, what’s up, man? What’s going on?”

“Hey, J. Not much. Bree here is just being moody, that’s all,” he says, with a shitty smirk stretched across his face.

She pushes into his barrel chest and retorts, “I’m not being moody. You’re an asshat and you’re a whore. I’m not going out with you ever again! Do you understand me, Trent Bailey? Never again!” she shouts and she curls her fists and stamps her little foot, as if to punctuate her words. “I’m not a tramp, nor am I one of those football team groupies. I liked you, but then I hear from Chelle that you screwed her roommate last night. What the hell is that? I’m not playing your bullshit games,” she screams, and then ducks under his large arm and stomps away, leaving a trail of expletives in her wake. I raise my eyebrows at Trent and shake my head.

“Looks like you got a lively one there. You might want to start keeping track of who rooms with whom if you intend on keeping up the pace you’ve been going at. Otherwise, there’s gonna be a pack of pissed off chicks with pitch forks at our dorm room door one day ready to tar and feather your big dumb ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever, man. She’ll come around. I actually feel a little bad that she found out. I like her, she’s not stupid, and she doesn’t get on my nerves when I’ve been around her for longer than ten minutes.” For a second, I see a flash of regret on Trent’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came. “Plus, she won’t even let me get past second base. It’s a little refreshing now that I think about it. I like a challenge.” He laughs and throws his bag in the back of my truck.

“You suck, man. That’s shitty to just see her as a piece of ass. You should try getting to know her. You might actually enjoy the company of the opposite sex for reasons other than screwing,” I tell him as we head toward the field house.